I remember standing at the altar, looking at him and thinking, “How did I get this lucky?”
And yet, some tiny part of me still wondered whether one day I would finally discover the catch.
Maybe that was what years of insecurity did to a person.
Luke never gave me a reason to doubt him.
I supplied the doubt myself.
Years passed.
Eventually, I stopped looking for the catch.
Our marriage wasn’t perfect, but it was real.
We argued about dishes, bills, and whose turn it was to buy groceries.
Luke snored when he slept on his back.
I left coffee cups in places no coffee cup logically belonged.
Diane and I never became close.
After several uncomfortable comments from her, Luke made it clear that disrespecting me meant seeing less of both of us.
Things improved.
Not because Diane suddenly adored me, but because she understood Luke would not let her treat me as though I were temporary.
Our life settled into something wonderfully ordinary.
Until today.
I was cleaning out an old box of wedding things when I found an envelope buried beneath our cards and photographs.
My name was written across the front in Luke’s handwriting.
Then, I saw the date.
